What Sort of Magic is This?
by EdwardsLily
Summary: He couldn't stop thinking about her... Hers was the face she saw when he closed his eyes. When she was near him, his whole self caught fire. But it wasn't supposed to be her. What sort of magic had she cast over him? For Hymnophle. DM/?


_**What Sort of Magic is This?**_

It had been a long summer. Draco would have been happy to get out of the house, to get away from Aunt Bella and his moping mother. He was sick of being babied. He was sick of having everyone remind him that he had to fill in his father's footsteps, now that Lucius was in Azkaban. If Draco was being completely honest with himself, he was sick of it all: of Death Eaters and prejudices and of the whole stupid war. But he knew that he would have to play his part well.

He would have been looking forward to going back to school but he didn't see anything much there. His life had already been planned out for him. He would join Voldemort. He would become a lackey for the Ministry. He would do everything than anyone ever told him to and he would not, of all things, complain. He would be just like father, just like mother, and just like the rest of the blind mob of Death Eaters. It was a bleak existence, especially when he watched his classmates prepare for a real life beyond Hogwarts.

Sitting through the feast was one of the hardest things he'd ever done. He couldn't meet Dumbledore's eye when the old man preached understanding and acceptance, and talked about Hogwarts working together in tough times. Fuck tough times! What did Dumbledore know? He would be dead by the end of the year anyway. The thought made Draco sick.

He wasn't the only one who had trouble with the speech. He looked over at Potter. Perfect Potter. It was his fault that Lucius had gotten their family into this mess. Potter and his own group of blind followers, all of whom sat with him and looked at him adoringly like he was some kind of fucking Messiah. Savior of the Mudbloods. It sounded like just the kind of pathetic title that Saint Potter deserved.

He let his eyes wander until they landed on her, and then he looked away quickly. She sat, isolated from the others, listening attentively to what Dumblebore said. Her hair glimmered in the candlelight, and her eyes were wide and earnest. Draco felt heat flood through his body, and he turned his eyes back to his plate quickly.

"Are you okay, Dray?" Pansy whispered, playing with her goblet. She'd been trying to baby him ever since their conversation on the Hogwarts Express. He didn't know if it was because she felt sorry for him or because she wanted to get into his good graces when he rose among their ranks. Either way, she sickened him.

"Fine. Leave me alone."

He breathed slowly, concentrating on stopping flushing. Malfoys never flushed. Especially not because of silly little girls.

He wasn't sure if he thought it was just a one-time thing, but things only got worse from then on. Every time Draco looked over at her, he found himself blushing. After the fifth time that he turned scarlet when he saw her across the room, he had to admit that it was a blush, not just a flush of anger or resentment. But _Malfoys did not blush._ Besides, there was nothing particularly appealing about someone who spent so much time with Potty and the Weasel. Draco was confused.

Pansy seemed to catch on better than he did. She saw his reaction every time he passed _her_ in the hallways, and rolled her eyes. "Dray, what's gotten into you? I know you know better."

He knew better, alright. He knew better than to stare at the way her hair swished and caught sunlight with the movement of her every step. He knew better than to watch the way her swirling robes clung to her body when she walked. He knew better…

"Draco Malfoy!" Pansy screeched. He looked up at her, startled, and wondered how anyone could be so truly unattractive.

"What?"

"Why are you _ogling –?"_

"I am not _ogling_ her, Pansy. I am merely admiring her barrette."

"Her barrette?"

He realized before the words were fully out of his mouth just how stupid they sounded.

"It erm… Contrasts nicely with her hair." He squirmed under her speculative gaze. There was something about the knowing way she looked at him that made him feel uncomfortable. "Let's get to class, Pansy."

He was happy not to see her, he was pissed. He was happy, he was pissed. It was the smallest of mercies and the worst of hells that he didn't have classes with her nearly as much as he would have liked. They were in different houses. Different houses, different classes. And his NEWT schedule must have been very different from her class schedule. But worse than seeing her was the fact that when she wasn't nearby he couldn't stop _thinking_ about her. Her face danced in front of his eyes, smiling with a gentle humor he'd seen her express when she was talking to Harry Potter.

Harry _fucking_ Potter. If she fancied him, by God…

She wasn't like the others. She smiled at him when she saw him looking. That only made him blush harder. Once, she said hello to him in the hallways. He walked away with trembling knees, and collapsed against the wall, taking deep breaths for the full thirty-two seconds that it took to compose himself enough to go to class.

Against his better judgment, he turned to Pansy again. "What's wrong with me, Pans?"

She looked up with mild interest from the book she'd been scanning. "What do you mean?"

"Why can't I…" he lowered his voice. They were in the Restricted Section of the library – the chances of someone overhearing him were small but mortifying. "Why can't I stop thinking about _her_?"

"Her?" She raised an eyebrow, and then smirked. "Oh. Her."

"Her. Pansy. What's wrong with me?"

"Thinking about her how, Draco?" She pushed her book aside and leaned forward across the table, her breath tickling his face. "Do you dream about her? Is that it? Do you wake up aroused because of her face?"

"God no!" His whole body lurched – probably out of shock. His heart raced.

"Close your eyes," she said bossily.

He closed them warily.

"Whose face do you see?"

"Hers. Can I please open them? I don't like to be unawares."

"Draco Malfoy," Pansy said sharply. "You are the most ridiculous man I've met in my life."

"What do you mean by that?" He'd been expecting something. He wasn't sure what it was, but he was sure that he hadn't been expecting her to go back to her book with a smug smirk on her face. "What do you mean, Pansy? What's wrong with me?"

She shrugged. "Good lord. I thought you were intelligent. If you haven't figured that out yourself, I guess you'll never know."

"Parkinson!"

"Malfoy?" she looked at him sweetly.

_I'm in the library. I can't hex her. It would be unwise to get myself into trouble. In the library. Witnesses… Witnesses…_

In December, Draco's father sent him a list of people to watch for… of those who had been at the Department of Mysteries upon his arrest. He wasn't surprised by most of the names on the list, but one jumped out at him in particular.

Oh God. _Her _name. Of course it was on the list. She was right in there with them, scrawled under the Weasel boy. She was with them all the time. Barely left their sides. Did she have any _other_ friends? Any _female_ friends, perhaps? There was the Weasley girl, he supposed… Oh God.

He still couldn't stop thinking about her. But ever since his conversation with Pansy, it had only gotten worse. He did dream about her now. She would smile at him and say, "Hello Draco" the way she had that day in the hallway. And he would blush madly, hanging his head, hoping no one noticed. Could it be a curse, maybe? That was the only way a person with such filthy blood could drive him mad. If his father knew that he was thinking about _her_, he would never live to hear the end of it.

Maybe he should just come up front and talk to her… If he knew what sort of spell she'd put on him… Maybe he could sort out a way to end it all.

He cornered her after her Herbology class. If she'd been surprised to see him waiting for her when she walked out, she didn't show it. Instead, she let him lead her around the back of the greenhouses, where he pushed her up against the wall and leaned in, bracing his hands on either side of her. "What have you done to me?"

She looked up at him with her big, starry eyes. "I'm sorry, what?"

"What sort of… of… spell have you cast on me? I know you did something." His face was burning furiously again, but he met her gaze, looking her straight in the eye.

"Draco, I have no idea what you're talking about."

Her sweet breath wafted in his face, dazzling him. He had her completely under his control. He could do anything to her… He had to look away for a minute. "I can't stop thinking about you. Why can't I stop thinking about you?"

With utter sincerity, she said, "It's probably the Nargles. They've been known to drive people mad."

God! She was infuriating! Intolerable! He couldn't take it anymore. What the _fuck_ was a Nargle, and why did it sound so appealing? Her mouth was still half open, and once it caught his eye he couldn't stop looking at it. To shut her up, to get rid of the distraction, he kissed her. He, Draco Malfoy, kissed Luna Lovegood. And loved every minute of it.

**A/N: Haha! How many of you thought it was Hermione? Just wondering… I hope this was good enough to be suspenseful, and not just shitty writing that pissed you off so much you had to read it to see if it would get better. Please let me know in a review… you know you want to.**


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